Sherrinford
by MinisteryOfMonsters
Summary: Sherlock always believed that he was the youngest brother of the Holmes family, but when news arrives of another Holmes sibling it sends Sherlock down a spiral of doubt about his past. Who is Sherrinford and why didn't Sherlock know him? Soon secrets are revealed and the hidden network of Moriarty is soon surfacing under a new rule, and Sherrinford is at the height of it all.
1. ONE

The silence was deafening as the three men occupied the small living room space of 221B. Sherlock's eyes wondered the room, avoiding eye contact with his brother who stood arms crossed against the doorframe of the room while John sat opposite his friend with his notes, as he always would for a client. However, this client was not in any need of help from the famous detective. Instead, it was the detective that required the help from his client. But, for now, Mycroft had no intention of answering anything Sherlock desired to know and his stubbornness was preventing any of them from proceeding.

"This is ridiculous," Mycroft stated. "I will not be treated as one of your clients."

"You are not leaving this room so I suggest you take a seat." Sherlock answered with a monotone voice, his focus remaining away from his brother.

"Sherlock I understand if you are upset with me- "

"Oh?" Sherlock interrupted as he sat up in his seat, his gaze now on his brother. "What gave it away?"

"Mycroft," John spoke up. "I think its best if you do as Sherlock says."

"I'm not sitting down."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Then get out."

Mycroft became silent after that, uncrossing his arms and slowly taking a seat and laying his umbrella beside him. He straightened his back and placed his hands on his knees.

"Alright, what is it you want to know?"

Sherlock straightened his own back and placed his arms on his armrests.

"I want the truth."

"Sherlock, I wanted to tell you- "

"So, tell me."

Mycroft shifted in his chair as he glanced at John. "Dr Watson, this is a private matter. I would suggest that you leave us be."

"John stays." Sherlock's tone was direct, causing John to drag his attention away from his notepad.

Mycroft suddenly turned hostile as he leaned forward. "This is family."

"That's why he stays!"

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he leaned back against his chair, letting out a frustrated sign. He noticed in his peripheral vision a small grin that appeared on Johns lips. Mycroft decided to keep to himself about the information. "Before I tell you, how much do you already know?"

"That you are aware of a man named Sherrinford and that our family is closely linked."

"Don't forget the fact that someone tried to kill me because of that name." John spoke up. This information was new to Mycroft.

"Someone attacked you?" Mycroft asked with genuine confusion and interest.

"I'm lucky I got out of there alive. If it wasn't for Mary, I would be dead right now."

"I need to know," Sherlock spoke, his voice hard. "Who is he? Who is Sherrinford? And what relation does he have to us?"

Mycroft seemed to take a while to answer, as if the question was something that he could not answer. But despite that, he let out a small breath through his nose and began to answer.

"Sherrinford is our youngest brother."

The statement flew by Sherlock for a moment before it finally reached his ears and he began to process the information. It wasn't long before his face showed the same amount of shock that his mind held.

"Brother?" John asked. "You have a third brother?"

"Yes. He was born around the time that Sherlock first joined University and I was given a position at the British government, a role that Uncle Rudy left to me before his passing. The news was a shock to me as well when I first found out."

"So, wait," John sat up and leaned closer to Mycroft. "You knew about Sherrinford before Sherlock and you didn't tell him? Not even his parents told him?"

"There was a reason," Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who was eerily quiet throughout. "Sherrinford was…difficult."

John frowned. "Difficult?"

Mycroft nodded. "I saw it first-hand. Our mother and father were finding it difficult to look after him. When Sherrinford turned twelve his mental state worsened and it became clear that our parents didn't have the capabilities that they once had to look after another child. Even to this extent. I suggested he would be looked after by a capable family while undergoing medical help."

"What was his diagnosis?"

"Sherrinford had extreme hallucinations and occasionally he would talk to himself. We believed he had schizophrenia and anxiety."

"Well, ok so he was unwell and he got help. But that doesn't explain why Sherlock wasn't told."

"I admit I left it too late. My original plan was to wait until Sherlock was ready to listen. At the time, he was...distant. I thought the news would hinder him further." Once again, Sherlock remained silent with his face somewhat staring at nothing. Nonetheless, he continued, "So I kept the news from him until I believed that the time was right. But then there were…complications."

"Like what?"

"Moriarty."

With the mention of that name, Sherlock suddenly turned his head to Mycroft. He was now suddenly alert.

"Moriarty?" John questioned, knowing that Sherlock was wondering the same thing he was. "What does he have to do with Sherrinford?"

"Sherlock, I know you're aware of Adam."

Sherlock frowned. "Moriarty's network?"

"The network was coded Adam and was controlled by one person. In case Moriarty was inactive, the network would command the rest until Moriarty was available to continue."

John shook his head, dreading where this was going. "You're not suggesting…"

"I am certain. Sherrinford was Adam."

Sherlock didn't react. John was becoming more uneasy with Sherlock's reactions. Or rather, the lack of.

"Sherrinford worked for Moriarty?"

"Against his will."

"What? Like, he was forced?"

Mycroft took in a sharp breath. "Sherrinford was smart. His levels of intellect were equal to Sherlock. However, due to his illness, he was easy to manipulate. It was too late to act when I discovered that Sherrinford was missing. He was taken by Moriarty and used as a weapon against me."

"What did they do to him?" Sherlock spoke in a low voice tainted with anger. The tone didn't hesitate in making Mycroft feel threatened.

"After Moriarty had killed himself, Sherlock spent the last two years taking down the network. Obviously, Adam was harder to find. A few days ago, the network shut down. We had found Adam."

"What happened to him?" Sherlock repeated.

Mycroft rubbed his hands nervously on his lap.

"He was found locked away with several bruises on his arms and legs. He had endured abuse from Moriarty's henchmen."

"Jesus…" John leaned in his chair, taken back by the horrific news. His eyes turned to Sherlock, knowing that the news was hurting him the most. Once again, Sherlock didn't react, but it didn't take a genius to know the extent of his emotions.

"Where, er…where is he now?" John asked, still wrapping his head around the news.

"He is currently at Scotland yard. We've reached out to his foster family. But we have received news of their unfortunate end. They were killed only a month ago,"

"So, he has nowhere to go?"

"For the time being."

"So, the images we saw that were broadcasted. The images of Moriarty. They were pre-recorded? Moriarty is actually dead?"

"Yes. We know that now. It was a scenario created by Moriarty's network to re-spark the fear that Moriarty left. But it is true that Moriarty is, and most certainly is, dead."

"I want to see him."

John and Mycroft turned their gazes to Sherlock who, for the first time in a while, spoke clearly to them. Mycroft became uncomfortable by the suggestion.

"Sherlock- "

"I want to see my brother."

"I cannot allow that."

"Why?" an outburst erupted from Sherlock. "You never told me of my little brother and now you insist on keeping him away from me!"

"You don't understand! Sherrinford is not in the right mind to see anyone. My, the very sight of you might give him a heart attack."

"He is my brother! Our brother! I deserve to know if he is ok!"

"And I am saying that it is impossible at this current time!"

"Boys, please." John spoke calmly; there was no use in shouting over them. "This is about Sherrinford's wellbeing. If what you're saying is true, then he needs support from his family more than ever. And that means from Sherlock as well. He deserves to see him, Mycroft. He's family."

"Dr Watson, I understand you're a caring man and that very nature accompanies your occupation. But as the oldest brother I must think about his wellbeing the most. Sherrinford was taken by Moriarty and manipulated into working against me. I have no idea how he will react when he sees the very person that he was meant to despise. Even if he knew that it was his brother. He could very well do the same for Sherlock. I have to think about Sherlock's safety."

"So, I must fear my little brother?" Sherlock spoke angry.

"In this instance, yes!"

"He's in bloody Scotland yard! The police will protect Sherlock if anything goes wrong." John raised his voice, but his calm nature remained intact.

"Even so- "

"I've had enough of this." Sherlock became inpatient and stood suddenly to grab his coat.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Mycroft stood also, his gaze following Sherlock.

"To see my brother. With or without your consent."

"I forbid it."

"Then stop me!" Sherlock burst out, glaring right back at his older brother. "Because no matter what you do Mycroft, I will see to it that my brother is cared for. I don't care if you send the whole of Scotland Yard or even the entire British military! Sherrinford is my brother and I won't rest until I see that he is safe with my own eyes!"

There was dead silence in the room. The two brothers stared at each other, attempting to make their statements clear. But in the end, Mycroft backed down. His demeanour straightened and he let out one long exhale.

"Caring is not an advantage."

"In this instance, I can make an exception."

Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. "There are no words that will convince you otherwise?"

"No. And no words will." He took one last look at Mycroft before grabbing his scarf and heading out of the flat.


	2. TWO

John took note of his friend's actions, constantly making sure that he was ok. After the confrontation with Mycroft, John's eyes followed closely after Sherlock. It was only a few moments later that Mycroft followed them and all three of ended up hailing a cab to Scotland Yard. All the while, Sherlock remained eerily quiet throughout the entire ride. John felt like he had to say something to his friend. After all, Sherlock wasn't the type of person that spoke greatly of emotion or trauma. He, in fact, detested the idea. So, it wasn't easy to openly talk about it to Sherlock. The last time he tried Sherlock pushed it aside or just didn't care.

But it didn't take a genius to see the mix of emotions playing across the face that Sherlock usually kept so stoic.

It showed anger, sadness, and anxiety. These emotions colliding with each other and each one playing their own part in Sherlock's mind. John needed to ask if he was ok, just to let Sherlock know that his friend was here beside him, to let him know that he was there for him.

But at the same time, he controlled himself and left the silent air undisturbed. John knew that whatever Sherlock felt now would be nothing compared to how he would feel when he came face to face with his little brother, a brother that he now had the duty of care for. Suddenly, he felt that Sherlock was aging too quickly. Just because this very person was his little brother and that very person needed care. And it was certain that Mycroft wasn't capable of giving care. Not in the way that Sherrinford needed.

After a long time, John averted his eyes from his friend. His senses felt like they were on fire. Everything was happening at once. And he knew it was ten times worse for Sherlock.

* * *

Scotland Yard was relatively quiet around this time, but it didn't stop the clattered noises of the papers and the typing of computers. The noises seemed so much louder to Sherlock. His mind, he felt, was racing much faster than the world was and he desperately hoped it would slow down. Vaguely, he felt the touching hand of John on his shoulder. It was something that would keep his mind grounded on earth before it ended up launching further and further away.

Sherrinford.

Suddenly the word became the only thing he could think of. The amount of times he saw it in every room of his palace. The small footsteps of his little brother echoing in the halls of his mind became deafening. Sherrinford was infesting his mind. And it got deeper and deeper the more he thought of it. Sherlock did his best to concentrate on the kind words of his friend, John Watson. But even with his words the thought of this new brother continued to haunt his mind. What was he meant to do after all of this? Was john still in danger? Was Sherrinford a danger to him or anyone else? Was he still Adam or was the network permanently taken down? How would he react to Sherrinford? How would Sherrinford react to him?

So much was rushing through his mind that it almost felt like it would overload. He claimed that his body betrayed him once, but now it seemed that his brain was betraying him.

It was almost a blessing when Lestrade came rushing to the three men. Sherlock couldn't help it when his body rose suddenly to its feet. To Lestrade, Sherlock almost looked like a madman with his eyes wide open and his lingering breath that grew heavier and heavier. He had to stop abruptly to make sure Sherlock wasn't going to bolt it.

"Mycroft, I got your call. Is Sherlock alright?"

"It is something to debate. Perhaps you can convince my dear brother to change his mind?"

Sherlock didn't respond, he was too busy trying to fix his breathing. Why was it so fast? Why couldn't he breath properly?

"Sherlock." John came face to face with Sherlock and placed both hands on his friends' shoulder. "Sherlock, listen to me. I get it, you're panicking. But it's alright. I'm here. Just take easy breaths, ok? You can't see your brother like this."

"J-John? M-My breathing…"

"You're having a panic attack. Just take easy breaths, alright? It will be ok. Just take slow and easy breaths." John sat Sherlock down slowly and breathed along with him, making sure that Sherlock was in the right state of mind. He needed to be for Sherrinford.

Sherlock took slow breaths, feeling his mind palace begin to slow down to its normal rate. The rapid words of Sherrinford still lingered but the thought was becoming something that his brain could adapt to.

"That's it, Sherlock. Nice and easy." John reassured his friend as he continued to slow his breathing.

Eventually Sherlock managed to calm himself and his breathing was much slower. Briefly he closed his eyes and took one long breath and exhaled somewhat shakily. But once his eyes were open again, he composed himself.

"You alright?" John asked just to make sure.

Sherlock nodded, reassuring his friends. "Yes," Sherlock took a moment to breath. "Yes, I'm alright."

John nodded, giving Sherlock a small pat on the shoulder. Sherlock rose from the seat, straightening himself as he did so.

"Sherlock," Lestrade began. "Look mate, if you're not ready for this- "

"Thank you for your concern, Graven."

"Greg."

"Greg, sorry. Thank you. But I need to do this."

"He's a little shaken up. So just be careful. We'll be outside if you need us."

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade gave one last nod before going over to set up the interview with Sherrinford. In the meantime, Sherlock, John and Mycroft remained outside.

"You can still change your mind, brother mine." Mycroft spoke, breaking the repetitive sound of the computers and the telephones.

"My mind is made up."

"Lestrade said himself that he is not well for this meeting. Sherlock, please this won't go well."

"We will soon see, won't we?"

"Mycroft just let it go, alright?" John spoke, defending his friend. Mycroft simply exhaled deeply and remained silent for the remainder of the waiting. It wasn't long after that Donovan appeared around the corner slowly. Her actions seemed much more gentle than her usual jumpy and slapstick attitude.

"He's ready for you, Sherlock."

Sherlock rose slowly and followed Sally to the interview room, quickly glancing at John who gave him a reassuring smile. Lestrade and a few policemen were standing outside. They were somewhat heavily armed, but not so much as to reveal any instant danger.

"Sherrinford is cuffed to the table so he won't be able to make any sudden attempts to attack you." Sally explained. "But just to be sure, we have our men ready."

"Thank you, Donovan."

Sally simply gave a small smile, though she seemed unsure of herself. Lestrade placed a hand on Sherlocks shoulder.

"We'll be watching from outside."

Sherlock nodded to Greg and took a few small steps to glance inside the room. There, he saw his little brother Sherrinford chained to the table with his head hanging. His hair was somewhat long, reaching just above his shoulders, it was messy to say the least. For the moment, Sherlock was happy he couldn't see his face just yet. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that so suddenly.

But he could most certainly see the bruises on his brothers' arms, they trailed upwards towards his neck in blotches. Sherrinford was close to the table so that his elbows were resting on the table and his body was slightly hunched over, concealing his face further.

"Ready when you are, Sherlock." Sally spoke.

Sherlock stared down at the handle, his hand hovering over it but refusing to move like a polar magnet. But within himself he said that he needed to know. This was his little brother. And his position of big brother was even more nerve racking. With a deep breath, Sherlock took the handle in his hand and turned it, hearing the door creak as it opened.


	3. THREE

Sherrinford showed no reaction as the door opened and Sherlock entered. He seemed fixated on the table in front of him, unaware of who entered or why. But he could gander that this person wanted answers just like all the other people who talked to him after the incident.

Sherlock took slow steps into the room, making sure he wouldn't startle his brother. He guessed that he was in safe hands; he plotted every escape route if anything did go wrong. But he had a lingering thought that Sherrinford wasn't going to do much, especially in the situation he was in. But either way, Sherlock was cautious. After all, Mycroft was probably right about Sherrinford being unstable.

Sherlock reached the metal table and clung to the bars of the chair, dragging it towards him and taking a seat. All the while, Sherrinford was unresponsive. Sherlock, now that he was much closer to his brother, could now evaluate Sherrinford at a closer distance.

And Sherlock was dreading the conclusions he would come to.

The first thing Sherlock took note of was Sherrinford's eyes which were still focused on the table in front of him. Sherlock noticed the heavy bags and the shade of blue concealed in his lifeless eyes. From his features, Sherlock could estimate his brother's age. At a guess, he would say he was around sixteen or seventeen.

Now that Sherlock could see clearly without the thick glass separating them, he could deduce the extent of his brother's injuries. His eyes scoured his brother's arm and chest. The bruises were spread out across his body with one black eye to accompany them and some smaller blotches of purple spread over his chained hands. The bruises were at least a few days old, meaning that whoever did this was still out there surely a threat to anyone they encountered. For now, Sherlock needed to concentrate on his brother.

"Sherrinford…"

With the mention of his name, Sherrinford flinched and his gaze wandered upwards to the person in front of him. His glassy and tired eyes widened, as he finally recognised that the person in the very same room as he was Sherlock Holmes. His body straightened as he stared at the detective, his body now on full alert with his hands now clasped together.

Sherlock, admittedly, had no idea what to say to him. Inside, he was still having an inner battle of reality and fiction and kept debating if this was even happening or if his mind palace was on overdrive again. But reality was set and he knew he couldn't get out of the situation he had placed himself in. So, to prepare himself, he straightened his back and returned his gaze to Sherrinford. The two were now simply looking at each other, saying nothing but somehow gaining something.

And then suddenly, out of the blue, Sherrinford spoke.

"I thought you would be wearing the hat."

Sherlock took note of his low voice. It was somewhat mature but that small hint of a childlike nature was still there.

He was thinking so much about the tone of his voice that the question flew by him. At this rate, any question would set Sherlock off.

"I'm sorry?"

"The hat," Sherrinford repeated. "I thought you would be wearing it. It made you look smart."

Sherlock frowned. "When did you see me with the hat?"

Sherrinford seemed to hesitate. "Two years ago. A few days before you died."

Sherlock leaned back. "You were watching…"

"It was necessary. Moriarty wanted me to see…"

Sherlock nodded. "He wanted you to see my death. The very thing that would break Mycroft."

Sherrinford shifted nervously. "I had access to the cameras. They were easy to break into."

There was silence once again. Sherrinford kept his gaze on his brother, almost as if he was seeing him for the first time. And in some way, he was. Sherlock took note that Sherrinford shifted uncomfortably when their gaze met for too long, as if even looking him in the eye was a challenge. After a while, Sherrinford looked down, averting his gaze completely to his hands.

"How old are you?"

Sherrinford looked back at Sherlock, his eyes distant and lost. "I turned seventeen five days ago," he spoke quietly.

"Happy birthday."

Sherrinford was taken off guard by the comment. His face suddenly turned sad as he looked away again.

"I heard what they did," He raised his voice a little. "To my parents."

Sherlock was silent.

"Governor Holmes told me that they were killed."

Sherlock frowned. "Governor?"

"Mycroft."

Sherlock made a small action of understanding. "Oh."

"He told me four days ago. I assumed he didn't want to tell me on my birthday. My parents would give me presents on my birthday. They were small. But it was nice. They got me a hat last year for the cold. They said my ears would fall off if I didn't wear it- "

"Sherrinford."

The boy stopped at the mention of his name. His gaze returned to his hands.

"I was trying to make a conversation…"

"I know."

His eyes widened again. "Did I do it wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. It was fine."

"Then why did you stop me?"

Sherlock leaned forward. "How much did Mycroft tell you?"

Sherrinford averted his eyes again.

"Sherrinford, What did Mycroft tell you?"

Sherrinford's gaze became sadder with his breathing was becoming shallow. In time, he looked at Sherlock again and spoke quietly.

"That you and Mycroft are my family and my true parents are still alive."

"You're my little brother." Sherlock spoke quietly also, seemingly to confirm it to himself one last time.

Sherrinford breathed in sharply, his expression showed sorrow and panic. "I betrayed you." His voice was merely a whisper.

"That's not true."

"H-He said that he would kill me if I didn't. I-I had to do it. I had to do as he said. I-I couldn't get out, couldn't escape." Sherrinford looked down at his hands, his teeth gritted to stop the flow of tears. "I swear I didn't know. I swear."

Sherlock leaned in closer, his hands resting on the table. "Look at me."

His brother shook his head.

"Sherrinford, look at me."

He hesitated, but looked up nonetheless with his eyes red from the tears.

"I forgive you."

Sherrinford shook his head. "No."

"Moriarty was there with me. He was prepared to die."

"No no no that's the point. He was going to kill himself. H-He told me. If you died then I-I would be free of him."

"Sherrinford-"

"I helped in your death. You-You can't forgive me."

"I already have."

Sherrinford looked away and began to breath quickly with his body curling up.

"I wanted you dead. I would be free. I was happy that he couldn't come back."

"He's dead, brother."

"But you're alive." He looked at Sherlock again. "What if Moriarty is alive too?"

"He is dead. But I got out. I knew what I was doing."

"He-he could come back. He would come after me. You can't forgive me."

Sherlock noticed the rapid breathing of his brother. "Sherrinford, calm down. You're safe. He isn't coming after you."

"He's gonna kill me." He whispered to himself, his head resting on the table.

"He is not going to kill you. Moriarty is dead. He shot himself with his own gun. I saw it with my own eyes. He died in front of me. I saw his body hit the ground. That man is dead." Sherlock's voice was stern, hoping that his brother would hear him.

Sherrinford didn't respond. His head was still resting on the table with his breath laboured as he cried. Cautiously, Sherlock reached out his hand and placed it gently upon his brother's causing Sherrinford to look up slightly.

"I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm here for you. And I forgive you."

Sherrinford remained silent as his eyes locked onto Sherlock's.

"How can you?" He spoke quietly.

The door opened to reveal Lestrade with Sally behind him. Sherrinford flinched back as they entered the room.

"Sherlock, times up."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Lestrade."

Lestrade nodded and headed out, keeping it open for Sherlock as Sally stood by the door, keeping her gaze on Sherrinford. The eye contact made the little brother nervous.

"I was a big fan of you." Sherrinford spoke up after a while of silence. "I read you up in the newspapers that Moriarty kept. I also read Johns blog but I was monitored. Moriarty would taunt me, I knew that. But I liked you. I liked the things you did."

Sherlock didn't answer, intending to listen to his brother before he left.

"I didn't want to betray you. And I don't expect any forgiveness from anyone. They'll send me away for my crimes."

"I will speak with Lestrade. Mycroft can clear things up."

Sherrinford shook his head again. "You can't…"

"I'm a murderer, Sherrinford. And yet, here I am. Because of my brother. I intend to repay him. And I also intend to help you."

Sherrinford wanted to answer back, to tell his brother that it was meaningless to even try. He didn't deserve his help after everything that he had confessed to. He already confessed to the police and he expected them to send him away for his crimes. But because of Sherlock, that didn't seem like the case anymore. And Sherrinford wasn't sure if it was the right cause of action.

"I promise I'll come back." Sherlock stood from his seat, lifting his hand from Sherrinford. The touch seemed to linger after its removal. Sherrinford, again, said nothing.

And he watched as his big brother left the room and the door closed behind him and he was left alone once again with his violent thoughts.


	4. FOUR

"I have arranged a meeting with the board. They will contribute with Sherrinford's innocence." Mycroft stated while seated in Lestrade's office with his umbrella clutched tightly in his hands.

"Mycroft, I know he's your brother but you can't forget that he attack a member of my squad as well as aid Moriarty with his plans against Sherlock and yourself. We can't just forget that."

"I am aware of the consequences, Lestrade. Let's not forget Sherlock's criminal record. I can rectify Sherrinford as I did with Sherlock. The only concern now is living accommodations."

"What do you have in mind?"

Mycroft breathed out slowly. "Considering Sherrinford's current state, I highly doubt that placing him with another family will be of any aid. For the time being, the very idea will have to be shelved."

"What about his real parents?"

"Out of the question. Our parents have reach a point in their lives were they are unable to care for another child. Especially one that suits Sherrinford's agenda."

"What about Sherlock?"

"Though I believe Sherrinford should be in the company of family, I fear that his interactions with Sherlock will be…concerning."

Lestrade shook his head. "Meaning?"

"Consider this: you have been taken away and used against your will to aid in the murder of anyone, only to find out that very person you were made to kill is family. That and taking into account of the constant manipulation inflicted by a mad man, I'm afraid that Sherrinford would pose a threat to Sherlock."

"You think Sherrinford will try and hurt Sherlock?"

Mycroft, showing worry and sorrow, nodded. "It is a possibility."

"Then what do we do?"

Mycroft hesitated at the thought.

"I have considered that Sherrinford should be committed to a mental hospital until I feel he is ready to live or even interact with anyone outside his area."

Lestrade didn't object, knowing that Sherrinford would benefit greatly from receiving mental help. The inspector tapped the tip of his pen on the table, thinking about his next question.

"Will you tell Sherlock?"

"I will have to. I doubt I'll be able to keep anything from him about Sherrinford ever again after today. I fear that Sherlock will become too emotionally attached to him."

"Well isn't that good? I mean yeah I know Sherrinford has been through a lot but wouldn't it be better for him to have some sort of communication with his family? If not from you then maybe Sherlock."

"I understand your point, Lestrade. But if Sherrinford doesn't improve I regret what would happen to Sherlock. The very idea would break him."

"You know, for a moment I thought you weren't even talking about Sherlock. I never really, well, you know…"

"Thought of him as a feeling boy?"

Lestrade seemed to be put off by that statement. "Well I wouldn't put it like that."

"But that's what you're trying to imply?"

Lestrade exhaled quietly and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so."

"Sherrinford will be allowed communication. But I would highly suggest that the communication he gets with Sherlock would be limited. I don't want anymore heartbreak placed upon this family."

Lestrade nodded and lifted himself from his seat. He could see Sherlock and John sat in the waiting room with Sally outside the interview room.

"I'll have to place Sherrinford back in his cell until we find a place for him. I guess you'll apply him for the hospital straight away?"

Mycroft nodded. "As soon as possible."

"Alright. I'll see you out."

"No need, Inspector." Mycroft rose himself from his own seat, glancing outside the office window to see Sherlock. "I'll see my own way out."

* * *

The day seemed to go on around Sherlock. The rapid sound of typing accompanied the constant ringing of telephones as Sherlock stared at the window of Lestrade's office. He could only assume what discussion they were having.

"Sherlock," John spoke quietly, "You alright?"

"I'm perfectly fine, why wouldn't I be?"

John's eyebrow lifted. "I don't think I need to answer that."

Sherlock glanced at his friend. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A scoff left his friend's lips. "Are you serious? Sherlock, you just talked to your secret brother."

"I am aware of the events that took place, John. Everyone is."

"I know you don't want to show how you feel. But you can't lie about it."

"I am fine. That's the truth."

"Yeah," John turned away from Sherlock with a knowing and somewhat annoyed look plastered on his face. "Of course it is."

The two of them shared no words for a while with John glancing at the office of Lestrade. Occasionally, his eyes wondered the building and only rarely would they land on Sherlock. But John didn't speak. He felt it was best for his friend to have a moment of calmness after everything that happened. He couldn't imagine what Sherlock was feeling.

"I worry for him, John."

John almost missed the words entirely. "Sorry, what?"

"Sherrinford. I worry for him."

"That's understandable. He is your brother."

"What do I do, John?" Sherlock turned to John fully with pleading eyes. "I haven't, I mean, I…"

"Sherlock, its alright." John shifted round to face his friend. "This isn't something you can get used to straight away."

"I want to be there for him."

"Who's saying you can't?"

"Mycroft. Right now, even."

The mention of Mycroft's name caused John to avert is eyes from Sherlock and back to the office. He saw the two men talking and by their expressions it was certainly something serious.

"Why would Mycroft stop you? Sherrinford is still your brother. You should have a say."

"I guess I will in a moment."

As if on queue, the door to the office opened and Mycroft stepped out with is umbrella swinging in his arm. He didn't hesitate in approaching the two men seated.

"Sherlock,' Mycroft started. "A word in private, please."

Sherlock nodded and stood from his seat. "I won't be long, hopefully."

John nodded. "I'll wait here, don't worry."

Sherlock smiled a little and followed after Mycroft who led him to the hallway outside the waiting area. Mycroft looked around to make sure that the two of them were alone. After he confirmed this information, Mycroft turned back to his brother who was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

"So?"

"I have consulted with Lestrade on the charges against our brother. He is to be found not guilty by my request as well as the board."

"And?"

Mycroft was mute, fiddling with the handle of his umbrella. "And I have also requested that Sherrinford is to be taken to a highly skilled mental hospital outside of London. I intend for him to received the very best of care."

Sherlock nodded in conformation.

"Considering his trauma, I have suggested that interactions with him are to be limited. I'm sure you understand, Sherlock?"

"So I can't talk to him?"

"For a while. But when Sherrinford is comfortable I can arrange some visitations for you and him-"

"What are you afraid of?"

Mycroft frowned his eyebrows at the question. "Afraid of?"

"Is it because you're convinced that Sherrinford will hurt me?"

"Sherlock, this is fact. Sherrinford harmed one of the officers. My god, he pulled a gun on him. Who is to say he won't do the same to you?"

"He needs me, Mycroft!"

"He needs care. And I highly doubt you will be the one to give it."

"You love making assumptions, don't you?"

"Oh stop this Sherlock! What makes you think you are capable of taking are of Sherrinford? I was there from the start, I saw what he was capable of and the least he needs is a drugged up detective thinking he knows better!"

Sherlock wanted to shout back, feeling his inner rage begin to surface. But he couldn't bring himself to because he hated knowing that Mycroft was right. The rage on Mycroft's face soon defused when he realised that the argument was leading nowhere.

"Look Sherlock, I understand. I really do. He is your brother as well as mine. And I know I should have told you sooner. It is a prise that I intend to pay. But this is serious, Sherlock. Sherrinford is ill and he needs professional help. I fear that his mental state will worsen if he's subjected to the very thing that he betrayed and we both know how much that hurts him. Maybe in time you can see him but right now I cannot risk both yours and his safety as much as it pains me to say."

"So I just go about my day, pretending that I never saw him?" Sherlock spoke softly, his energy drained.

"If that's how you want to put it, yes."

Sherlock hated that suggestion. He couldn't just keep on going with his life knowing that Sherrinford existed. He couldn't just ignore him like this. But at the same time Mycroft was right, Sherrinford was ill and he needed help and at this rate Sherlock didn't know how to help him. As much as this hurt him, he has to comply. Slowly, he lifted his head, which was previously hanging low and stared at his older brother, nodding to him.

"Alright, Mycroft."

Mycroft gave one single nod. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Sherlock didn't signal his goodbye as he hurried through the doors back into the waiting room. Mycroft couldn't help the quiet sigh that escaped his lips.

"Oh Sherlock…" He gripped the handle of the door and returned inside.

Just as the brothers returned, the police were entering the interview room and proceeded to remove Sherrinford from the area. Sherlock saw the look of sorrow in his eyes as he caught sight of Sherlock. He noticed that Sherrinford stopped short as they stared at each other, which caused the policemen to shove him slightly to get him moving again and the eye contact between the brothers broke instantly.

John noticed how Sherlock almost bolted forward. And he would have if his friend didn't stop him dead in his tracks.

"Sherlock come on," John spoke gently to him. "Lets go."


	5. FIVE

Rosemond was quiet in her crib as Mary rocked it gently. She gazed at her child with care and love as she left soundly. Mary was always happy to care for her. After all, she was a good girl. She never cried so often and when she left she was silent throughout. She was a gifted child and Mary had high hopes for her child's future. And she was lucky to be there to embrace it.

Suddenly, Mary felt her phone vibrate in her pocket as she quickly took hold of it and answered. She gave her simple greeting while making sure to keep her voice at a low volume. "Hello?"

"Mary, It's John."

"Hey sweetheart. I just put little Rosie to sleep. How's Sherlock? Did you find out who that man was?"

There was a short pause on the line. "Erm. Well, actually he isn't doing so well. And no, not yet."

Mary frowned. "No? Why what happened?"

"It's best if I tell you when I get back. I just called up to see if you were ok."

"I'm alright. So is Rosie. John, what's going on?"

But John hung up before he could answer.

* * *

The ride to the station was bad enough but the ride back was ten times worse. The atmosphere had grown immensely thick after the interview with Sherrinford that John felt like he would choke. Sherlock was no better. After their talk, Mycroft decided to make his own way back, possibly to the Diogenes club, while Sherlock and John took the cab back to Baker street. The whole ride was filled with thick silence and John had no idea what to say without making the whole situation awkward or degrading. Sherlock was possibly not in the mood to speak due to his gaze wondering out the window of the cab, occasionally following the buildings as they flashed by. It was almost a blessing when the cab finally stopped at Baker Street and Sherlock practically jumped out to reach the door at a fast pace. John followed.

"Sherlock, wait!" John shouted after him but the detective seemed to ignore its efforts as he rushed upstairs just as Mrs Hudson came out from the underneath room.

"John? Is everything alright?" Hudson asked with concern.

"I honestly don't know."

"You best go after him. He looks worried."

John nodded after giving Mrs Hudson a reassuring smile. He pursued the stairs up to Sherlocks living room where he saw his friend rummaging through his belongings.

"Sherlock?" John spoke up, hoping to gain Sherlock's attention but to no avail. His friend continued to search through is things until he grabbed a small pack of cigarettes. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I need it, John. Please."

John stepped forward to grab Sherlocks arm. "Sherlock, taking this stuff isn't going to help you."

"I just need one."

"You say that and then the whole packet will be gone! Sherlock, don't take this stuff. It isn't going to help you."

Sherlock frowned in frustration and yanked his arm away, throwing the packet forcefully to the ground as he fell on his chair. He placed his head in his hands, letting out a long exhale. John slowly sat in his own chair opposite him.

"Sherlock, what did Mycroft tell you?"

Sherlock moved his hands away and faced John. "Sherrinford will be placed in a mental hospital. I am to continue with my life having no further interactions with him."

John thought, for a moment, that he misunderstood his friend. "He said what?"

"That I am to forget my brother until further notice!"

John raised his eyebrows. "Forget? Like, literally or…"

Sherlock sighed. "It may as well be."

John shook his head. "Jesus…"

"I promised I would be there. I can't do that now, can I?"

John sighed. "I don't know what Mycroft said exactly. But he must be looking out for you. I mean he has to look out for the two brothers. And this is a hard time for the both of you. Sherrinford as well."

Sherlock was silent.

"Give it time. Maybe things will clear up a little. But don't forget Sherrinford. Its ok to think about him."

"It will pry on my mind. All I can think about is all the times I should have been there. The things I could have done to help."

"You didn't know, Sherlock. Moriarty used him against us and there was nothing we could do. Yes, Mycroft is at fault here. But there was a reason why he didn't tell you. He was just thinking about you."

Sherlock's gaze returned to John.

"Maybe Sherrinford just needs time. It won't be good for him if we rush into it. Maybe when he's well enough we can see him. But for now, I guess we just let things carry on."

Sherlock nodded, but his look didn't show the same amount of affirmation. And he found John searching his face for that very answer.

"I'm sure things will be alright. Just, if you need anything let me know."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock let out a tired breath as he rested in his chair. "I may need some time alone."

John nodded in understanding. He could imagine himself in this situation after his relationship with his sister turned bitter. But Sherlock still had a chance with Sherrinford and possibly in time the two of them could become close. But right now, due to his mental state, Sherlock couldn't speak to him for some time with the risk of hurting not just himself but Sherrinford too. John could definitely tell that Sherlock loved him, even though their connection only lasted a few moments before being severed. That connection would be broken for a long time, but John was confident that Sherlock would see him again. And until then, he would be there for his friend.

"Listen, I need to get back. I need to explain to Mary what happened. Plus, Rosie is possibly missing me."

Sherlock nodded. "Go to them. I'll stay here."

"Just text me if you need anything, alright?"

Sherlock nodded as he watched John stand and exit the living room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

…

The cell rooms were usually quiet but there was always the odd scream of a man or woman demanding that their innocence was assured. Unlike them, Sherrinford already knew this. For the majority of the day he kept his head low and sat silently on the bed of cloth and steel, listening to anything that creaked through the walls, whether that was the slight dust movement or the sound of clicking shoes of the police guards. The cell itself wasn't anything of significance to Sherrinford, since it wasn't like he had seen anything else for almost his entire life. At least he was grateful that the room held much more light than his last containment.

"Dull place, isn't it?"

That voice made Sherrinford freeze, his breath suddenly caught in his throat, as he was unable to look upwards towards the voice. But when he finally found the courage to do so he found himself staring at the man that caused him so much pain, Jim Moriarty, who was leaning his body against the grey walls with an eerie smile plastered on his face.

"I mean it could do with some redecorating. Make it look like your cell."

Sherrinford shook his head and quickly looked down to his hands with his eyes wide with terror.

"What? Wrong timing? Well, I was always known for my slow pacing." Sherrinford, in his peripheral vision, could see the smartly stylised shoes of Moriarty as he came closer to him. Sherrinford hung his head more as to avoid the tall figure as he felt Moriarty's breath closing in on him. "You would know that, wouldn't you?"

Sherrinford shook his head.

"Oh come on, Sherry. You know what I mean. You were there when we planned everything. You were a big help to me, I must say. We almost had him."

"No…"

"But he was always one step ahead of you, wasn't he?"

"S-Stop…"

Moriarty raise his eyebrows in amusement. "Having regrets?"

"You made me…"

"Maybe. But who is to say you brought it to the next level? Face it Sherrinford, you enjoyed it. Every second of it."

"You're lying."

Moriarty shrugged childishly. "If you say so." Suddenly, he placed himself next to Sherrinford and spoke into his ear. The distance made Sherrinford breath quickly in fear. "Do you think Sherlock will forgive you, though?"

"He said he did…"

"Yeah he 'said' but maybe he was lying. I mean think about it, you shot a policeman and you aided me in all my schemes. That, and you helped me in taking Sherlock down bit by bit. You watched it. You saw me die and you witnessed your own brother jump from that building. And you were grinning like a five year old."

"S-Stop I, I didn't know I swear-"

Moriarty barked with laughter. "You still did it! You still let it happen! And you honestly think anyone would forgive you after that? You're kidding yourself!"

Sherrinford covered his ears as he hung his head more, hoping to block out the noise. He could feel his eyes welling up.

"Oh god you're not going to cry again, are you? I had enough of that when you were with me!"

"Go away!" Sherrinford turned away from the man, his hands still on his ears. "Just go! Stay away from me!"

There was silence or a moment. Silence that Sherrinford begged for. But it was broken when a heavy whisper bled through Sherrinford's mind.

"I'm not going anywhere, and you know that."

And the last thing Sherrinford felt was Moriarty's ghostly breath over his neck. Grinning at the terrified boy in front of him. And the next time Sherrinford looked back, Moriarty vanished. But Sherrinford didn't smile in relief. For Moriarty was still there, lingering.


	6. SIX

Molly kept her eyes on Sherlock the majority of the time he spent in the Scotland Yard labs as he seemed engrossed into his experiment. But Molly knew for a fact that the experiment was similar to another one he did. She wondered why he was repeating the same experiment. She thought for a moment, thinking that interrupting him would be a bad idea. Considering what Sherlock was now going through.

It had been a week since Sherlock had encountered his secret brother and the tension didn't seem to be subsiding. John had informed Mary and in turn she told Molly of the events that unfolded. And that only caused the concern towards Sherlock to grow even more. Especially the concern Molly held inside.

It was obvious that Molly had many concerns involving Sherlock. The last time she examined him he was surpassingly off his head with drugs for that one case back before Magnusson. She remembered how she blew up in his face while he stood there seemingly not caring about how she was crying over him. After that, Molly was worried about showing much emotion around Sherlock that concerned him. But she couldn't help it. She loved him too much to stop. Soon enough, she found the courage to walk up to him as he took down notes for his experiment and continued to look into the microscope.

"Hey…" Molly spoke with caution. Sherlock simply glanced at her.

"Molly."

"What, er, what are you doing?" Molly found herself fiddling with her sleeve.

"Analysing the amount of saliva after death."

Molly frowned. "But you already did that."

"I'm doing it again."

"Oh."

There was silence between them. Sherlock made no attempted to reply or bring up a subject.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock slowly lifted himself from the microscope and faced Molly.

"Yes?"

Molly hesitated. "Are you ok?"

"I am fine."

"Sherlock, please." Molly pleased with him. It pained her to see him like this.

"I have been in pressing moments like this before. I will be fine."

"This is family, Sherlock. Nothing can compare to that, no matter what you say."

Sherlock stared at Molly. She couldn't tell if her words were reaching him or simply passing over him like nothing. It wouldn't have been a surprise to her if it was the latter. After all, she had gotten used to the idea of him not hearing or seeing her like she wanted him to.

"I assume John told you?"

"Mary, actually." Molly spoke quietly. She knew she needed to be gentle with the subject. "She's worried about you. John too. They say you haven't spoken to them in a while."

"I've been busy." Sherlock turned back to the microscope, adjusting the zoom a little. Molly assumed he was just fiddling to bypass the conversation.

"Sherlock we're worried about you. We just want to know if you're ok."

"Well you can tell them that Sherlock Holmes is completely fine and doesn't need to be checked on every so often when he doesn't talk when it's convenient for them." Molly could sense the venom in Sherlock's voice. Molly had to try and hold back her own anger from surfacing.

"Don't you dare say that. They care about you and it not their fault what's happening. It gives you no right to treat them like this."

Sherlock was becoming impatient as he sighed heavily and looked away from Molly.

"Just talk to them, Sherlock. Because nothing will get better when you push people away. Especially your friends."

"I don't want to talk to anyone."

"Why? Why are you so insistent on distancing yourself from everyone?"

"Does it need a reason? Shouldn't my word be enough to convince you that I want to be alone? Why do people insist on being around people? Why can't you just leave me alone? I don't want you or anyone here!"

Soon, Molly herself was getting impatient. "Sherlock, I said to you two years ago that I would be here for you. That I would do anything for you because I cared about you and I still do. And I'll never stop caring. Because you're my friend and I can't bear to see you like this-" Molly felt her own emotions start to surface as she stopped mid-sentence to stop her tears from controlling her.

Sherlock found himself slowly glancing at Molly. His breathing began to increase.

"A-And I'll still do that now. I'll do anything to help you. Anything. Just so you don't have to deal with this burden anymore. So please, tell me the truth."

Sherlock stared at Molly. The silence lingered.

"Are you ok?" Molly's voice broke as her tone suddenly became gentle and quiet.

There was a period where Sherlock said nothing. The two of them kept their eyes on each other, refusing to look away. After some time, Sherlock moved away from the table and faced Molly fully as the distance between them closed. And in that single moment, Sherlock's blank and reserved expression broke.

"No."

* * *

It had taken some convincing, but Sherlock agreed to Molly's request to go out for some coffee and, conveniently, the day had taken a gloomy turn from being the hottest day in weeks to the heaviest downfall of rain ever. But during that moment, Molly and Sherlock couldn't care less about the weather.

Sherlock had allowed Molly to choose a common coffee shop in London to occupy their time. Molly chose to have a simple brownie with her coffee while Sherlock had his usual tea to hopefully warm him up from the cold which was made more obvious by the way he curled his coat around his body with his collar hanging tightly around his neck. The drinks seemed to help with the quiet atmosphere that the two shared as Sherlock simply stared at the raindrops that fell harshly on the windows. Molly kept her gaze on her coffee which she held tightly with both her hands. Her raincoat embraced her firmly also.

"Not exactly the best of days to go out. But I thought you needed it." Molly ensured she had a much calmer voice than before. She knew Sherlock needed it.

"I believe it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Yeah, exactly."

The rain seemed to grow louder as time went on. Molly only talked about small things such as her work or her own life. Sherlock didn't show any signs of disinterest. She assumed it was the only hook that he had of distracting him from Sherrinford. She didn't complain as she was happy that her words were somewhat helping. Now and then Molly would pause in case Sherlock wanted her to talk about something else. But Sherlock reassured her with a simple nod to continue and so she did. She found herself talking about many little things. Sometimes she would bring up her old fiancé and talk about the times the two of them shared together. But she found herself needing to talk about other things rather than him. She needed to move on from that. Move on from the disappointment that she had painted herself as towards him and hopefully find something else to live for.

Suddenly, as Molly was about to talk about something else, Sherlock spoke up.

"Do you have a good relation with your brother?" Sherlock's voice was gentle, it seemed to melt into the atmosphere.

Molly was taken back, wondering how Sherlock could even know about him. But then she remembered who she was talking to and decided not to pry. Molly smiled a little with a small hint of sarcasm.

"You tell me."

"I'd rather not. People have told me that I pry into people's business too much. I never really know how to stop."

Molly smiled. "I don't mind."

"I mind. Especially when it concerns you."

Molly felt her cheeks warm up. "That's never stopped you before."

Sherlock glanced outside. "I want you to tell me. It would give my mind a break."

Molly never thought Sherlock would even consider the idea of having a break. She always remembered watching him dash everywhere in the lab just because he needed the information a jacket for a crime. She admired how Sherlock never got stressed in such moments like that. So, it seemed strange when he openly suggests the idea of letting everything slow down for a moment and give himself a break. Maybe the day called for it.

Or maybe Sherlock had already worn his mind out worrying over Sherrinford.

"How long have you known?" Molly couldn't help but ask.

"From the first time we met."

"That long…" Molly curled her fingers around her cup as she took a small sip from it. "And you never brought it up?"

"I didn't find it necessary."

Molly nodded in understanding, considering the type of person Sherlock was back then.

"We used to talk often which was usually through Skype," Molly smiled at the comment, "Which I know people don't use a lot off now. But he was always the slow type. He liked to take things slowly if it was too much for him." Molly's smile vanished, averting her eyes back to her cup. "We had a fight. And now we don't talk much."

"What did you fight over?"

Molly shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know anymore. I know we shouted and we had our disagreements. But that fight changed things. And I don't even remember why. And sometimes I hope it was something important. Because it was the last thing me and my brother did before we lost contact."

Sherlock remained silent.

"We stopped talking after that. I don't even know where he is. My grandmother told me he was living in Miami now. Got a job as a police officer." Molly seemed to smile at the information. "He always said he wanted to join the police force. But I never imagined he would move all the way to America to do it."

"What did you do?"

Molly looked up at Sherlock. "What do you mean?"

"What did you do after losing contact with him?"

Molly's gaze seemed to shift to the window, watching the droplets of the rain slide own like veins. "I guess I just…carried on."

"How?"

Molly shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that I eventually moved on with my life. I mean, it was hard. But I kept going, wishing my brother a good life while I remained here and…lived my life."

Sherlock nodded. "I see."

Molly looked back at Sherlock. "Why do you ask?"

It was Sherlock's time to stare at the window but his eyes seemed unfocused. Molly hardly ever saw him like this. "Because I want my brother to be happy."

"He can be. He will be."

"But I won't be there."

"Maybe not now. But you still have a chance to see him when he's ready."

Sherlock looked down at his tea which he hardy touched since he sat down. "John said that. And yet here I am."

"No one is expecting you to take anyone's word for it. I thought me and my brother would stay in contact after we grew up. And that ended up with him many miles away from home. But you still have a chance to make that connection. Maybe when Sherrinford is ready that connection will be even stronger and you and him will have the chance to be something more. But no one said it would be easy."

Sherlock seemed fixated on his drink, but Molly knew he was listening. She knew him well enough to not question it.

"Mycroft keeps me updated. But he tends to be vague. I suppose you could say I'm worried."

"That's ok. It's normal for family to be worried for each other."

"But not like this. At least, not for me." Sherlock shifted his gaze back to Molly. A look of anxiety was shadowing over him. "It occurred to me so suddenly that I was a big brother. And at the time I didn't know what to say. So, I told him I would be there. But it's been a week, and I haven't seen him since." His voice soon turned soft. "What if I let him down?"

"No. You won't ever do that."

"How can you be so sure?"

Molly smiled. "Because I know things. And I know you won't let him down. Because you never let anyone down."

"I highly doubt that."

"You don't need to. You'll be a great big brother, Sherlock. And I think, in time, Sherrinford will say the same."

It seemed like a long time for Sherlock, but he found himself smiling gently at Molly's words as the sound of the heavy rain began to subside and the silence that lingered afterwards soon became a warm embrace of comfort for him.


	7. SEVEN

"Any news from Sherrinford?"

Mycroft was stationed in the CCTV control room accompanied by many other employees as they watched over the streets of London. Mycroft made it a weekly task to check on the workability of the employers. It also helped if Sherlock was ever to leave his flat for a case. After all, it didn't seem harsh to check on his little brother now and then. Of course, due to recent events, he was more aware of the care he needed to uphold with Sherrinford.

"I get regular updates." Mycroft replied with some hesitation as he turned his attention to Lady Smallwood who simply raised her eyebrows to him.

"And?"

"Sherrinford is secure."

"I'm perfectly aware of the security of the hospital, Mycroft. I'm asking about your brother."

"As I said, I get updates on his condition." Mycroft turned his attention to the many cameras plastered on the walls above the desks. Their light illuminated the faces of the people in the dark.

Lady Smallwood turned her own gaze to the cameras, shifting her eyes to the different locations of London.

"Should I assume Sherlock's current state?"

Mycroft seemed to tense up. "He hasn't been in contact."

"No offence, but I believe if I was told I had a secret genius of a brother who was locked away against his will and was forced to work for the enemy then I don't think jumping around in delight would be the appropriate move."

Mycroft glanced at Smallwood. "I am aware of my mistake. It will not happen again."

"Let us hope so."

There was silence between them, something Mycroft was finding uncomfortable.

"It has only been a week since Sherlock was made aware. Sherrinford is not in the right state for visits."

"Well I'm sure one won't hurt the poor lad, will it?"

"You cannot be suggesting that I allow Sherlock to see him?"

"I'm not suggesting regular visits. Just the one. After that they can meet up for tea and biscuits." Smallwood showed a small hint of a smirk.

Mycroft wasn't impressed. "Very funny."

"In all seriousness, they are still family. Maybe they don't need to meet. Maybe just a call."

"Communication through a phoneline? Sherlock doesn't make it a habit to talk on the phone. He prefers text."

"Then why not text Sherrinford. From what we know Sherrinford is well adjusted to modern technology. Maybe they could text each other. Or maybe they could communicate through a computer."

"You mean typing?"

Smallwood shrugged a little. "Possibly."

Mycroft sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Good on you."

"But I am still strike with my previous notion. The two of them are not to see each other."

Smallwood smiled. "Well I'm sure a text won't hurt, will it?"

It was a long pause before Mycroft replied again. "I suppose not."

Mycroft watched the cameras as they turned to show more of the hidden paths of London. One camera was one that Mycroft concentrated on the most which showed a coffee shop hidden in the rain. Inside sat two people drinking a black substance that could only be described as coffee. Mycroft knew the people inside was none other than Sherlock and Molly Hooper.

"It seems Sherlock is spending his time in the rain." Smallwood commented.

Mycroft hummed. "It seems so. My brother always tended to roam among the unwary. I suppose he finds comfort in it."

For a moment, Sherlock moved in the camera as his head turned to look outside into the rain. Mycroft could see the distance that Sherlock created between his focused mind and the reality that was shaping itself around him. It reminded him of Sherrinford.

"I meant what I said, Mycroft." Smallwood spoke quietly, "Sherlock should have a small amount of communication with Sherrinford. It would be good for them. And maybe it would be good for you too."

"I don't usually make it a habit to take advice from other people rather than myself."

"Well maybe it's time to change. There's no harm in trying."

Mycroft didn't reply and instead kept his gaze on Sherlock. He knew he had to let Sherlock have some communication with Sherrinford but he feared the outcome of what would take place if he even allowed them together for so long. Sherlock only has a small glimpse of what Sherrinford was capable of and the rest was told to him. Mycroft knew the capabilities of Sherrinford's intelligence. After all, what else could be said when a young mind such as Sherrinford used his intelligence to almost destroy Sherlock's name and bring the government down bit by bit. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he received a call about recruiting Sherrinford for MI6. The chance was there after all and it seemed all too real to be considered a dream.

Mycroft leaned his body on his umbrella as he pondered the information taken from Smallwood. He couldn't help himself when his gaze remained fixated on his brother.

And almost immediately after he did so, Sherlock looked back.

* * *

Sherrinford was afraid of the dark.

The sensation of moss on the brick walls was something Sherrinford remembered the most within the darkness of the tower. The floor was never dry and only on rare occasions would the weather bless him with warmth. He could remember the chains wrapped around his limbs, restricting his movements completely and causing many bruises to form around his ankles and wrists. He could remember the amount of times that he felt his strength waste away before him. He considered the idea to be tactical. To stop him from running when freed from the chains. But his broken legs would have been good enough.

Sherrinford could remember the echoes that travelled high up to the top of the tower which showed only a small amount of light each day. He would remember watching the direction of the light change with every passing hour as he used the ray to determine the time. It was something that kept his mind occupied from the threat outside of his containment.

On very lucky days, he could leave the prison to work with Moriarty within the warm environment of his base. Wherever that was. But he could remember it being a place he considered safe.

It was always about survival for Sherrinford. He had to do as he was told to make is time of capture comfortable. His actions were monitored constantly so it wasn't like he could call out for help without being seen. Moriarty's men made sure he was obedient. It was better than the beatings from the man himself. He made sure to restrict his efforts of escape.

It felt real for Sherrinford each time he closed his eyes. He remembered the stench of the prison and the hard looks of the men that towered over him, mocking him. Hurting him. Doing things that he wished to forget.

And then he would open his eyes.

And he would wish he hasn't.

* * *

John always kept his phone beside him in case Sherlock called. He agreed to himself that Sherlock needed the space to adjust to the reality of the situation. So, John didn't call for a day or so. But after some time, it occurred to him that Sherlock didn't call at all. Not even for a case. The idea that Sherlock wasn't occupying himself seemed strange. Even when Irene Adler was assumed dead Sherlock would do many things to occupy his time. But John was worried that the alone time wasn't helping.

John soon felt his phone vibrate and checked the display to see who was calling. He soon knew that Molly was calling him and he didn't hesitate to answer the phone straight away. As he answered the phone, he made his way to the window of his house to the check the weather outside. Thankfully the rain had subsided.

"Molly?"

"Hey, John. I just wanted to call to let you know about Sherlock."

"It's it ok?"

"He's with me. We went out of a coffee."

"You went out? You mean Sherlock actually went out. Like, hung out?"

Molly was heard laughing quietly on the other line. "Yeah. I thought it would help. He's just worried John. Worried about Sherrinford."

"I know. I'm worried for the both of them." John sighed. "Why did this have to happen?"

"I know. I'm going to take Sherlock back to Baker Street. Will you call later?"

"Yeah, I'll call later. Thanks for telling me."

Molly said her goodbyes and hung up. John allowed his hand to hang beside him as a long sigh escaped his lips.

"John?" Mary called out from kitchen. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Molly. She was just letting me know about Sherlock."

"Oh good." Mary appeared from the kitchen door, peeking out from the frame. "What did she say?"

"Sherlock hung out with her. They're heading back to Baker street now. I'm just gonna head over."

"Hold on," Mary began to search for her coat. "I'll bring Rosie with us."

"Maybe its best if-"

"Don't' even say it. I still have some energy left in me." Mary wasted no time in grabbing Rosie's coat and placing it on her while making her way quickly to the front door. John followed after her.

"Alright, if you're sure."

"John, Sherlock is my friend too. I want to be there for him as well."

John smiled at that. "No objections there."

* * *

Molly parked her car just outside of 221B. She turned the engine off and the two of them spend a few moments in silence. Sherlock soon broke it.

"Thank you, Molly."

Molly smiled. "We should do it more often. It was nice."

"It was."

Silence.

"You sure you won't come in?"

"No. I still need to finish some things back at the lab. I think John will be coming over though."

"Oh."

Molly frowned at Sherlock's reaction. "Is that bad?"

"No. Its fine. I was just hoping would stay longer."

Molly laughed a little. "I think I would get pretty boring after a while."

"Not to me."

Molly's smile faltered. "I appreciate the thought. But I really should be going."

Sherlock nodded in understanding as his gaze turned to the flat of 221B.

"Don't worry, Sherlock." Molly started. "When Sherrinford is ready, I'm sure you'll make a great big brother."

"I hope I do."

"Well it's only been a week. A lot of things can still happen."

"Can you promise me something?"

Molly slowly nodded.

"Could you call your brother?"

Molly wasn't sure how to answer. "Sherlock, I…I don't know…"

"I suddenly have this feeling of regret. And I don't want that same feeling for you. Not for your brother."

Molly understood what Sherlock meant but it was easier said than done. Molly hadn't talked to her brother in so long that she wasn't even sure if she was capable of doing it or even if she was allowed to. But she didn't want Sherlock to have this constant regret of not being able to save another family in his situation. So, Molly nodded, smiling back.

"Yeah. I will. Promise."

Sherlock had nothing else to say as he too smiled back and opened the door to the car, making his way back home.

* * *

Sherrinford was afraid of the light.

Because each waking hour was the same. Constant and degrading and full of despair. Every moment would burn inside like a furnace that wouldn't be put out. Every second that past was like walking through water that caught itself inside his lunges and crushed his chest. A warm day was suddenly burn his mind. Every conversation was dwell inside of him as every outcome would drive him mad. What should I have said instead? Why did I say that? Did I say it wrong? Why do they keep staring at me? Why do I feel like this?

The world around him would move strangely. Things would change shape without anyone noticing. His eyes would perceive many things as blurry or unnatural. The ground would swallow him whole, digging deeper and deeper until he couldn't breathe. The same man would stand in the corner every day and smile. Smile in mockery. Smile because he wouldn't leave. Smile because he had won.

It was hell. A hell within a hell. Everything burned inside and Sherrinford wasn't sure if he could get out. Each day was something he dreaded, something new that he couldn't control.

And then he would close his eyes and the endless pain would be degraded to one moment in time. One single moment.

And Sherrinford would be in control again.


	8. EIGHT

Sherlock was grateful for the company of the Watsons. The time they spent with him was something he could latch onto and John was very understanding as well as Mary about his lack of communication between them. Thus, they allowed Sherlock to spend some time with Rosie and helped him while he cared for her. John wouldn't stop smirking to himself when Sherlock couldn't get the diaper on just right.

For a moment, through all the times he had spent with his secondary family, he forgot about Sherrinford. But when he rested against his chair and little Rosie was resting on the chest of a sleeping John Watson and Mary Watson, the memory of him soon returned.

He couldn't help but think of what Sherrinford was going through right that this very moment. He thought about him talking to a bunch of people that he didn't recognise. The thought put Sherlock off tremendously.

He wondered how he could care so much for someone like Sherrinford. Had he really changed since he first encountered John? Did John Watson really change him emotionally? The thought made Sherlock gaze at the sleeping form of his friend with little Rosie dressed in her pink baby clothes. She soon woke up and her little form seemed to move rigidly, like a small robot with rusty joints.

Sherlock couldn't stop his body as he stood from his chair and picked up Rosie gently, returning to his seat and placing Rosie on his own chest.

"Let's leave John to sleep, Hm?" He knew that Rosie couldn't talk at her age but it seemed almost normal to talk to her like anyone else. Before, Sherlock would have known this information and would have kept to his moral code of not dealing with children. They weren't really his area. But now it seemed natural to him, like it was something he could do everyday of his life and before. Sherlock lightly placed his hand on Rosie's back as he watched her small body adjust to the new surface she was lying on.

"You're very lucky." Sherlock said quietly, "There have been many people who have reached out to me in the past. I never acknowledged their existence. Until know." He glanced at his friend, watching Mary shift slightly in her own slumber. "All because of your father."

Rosie made a small noise as she lifted her own body to look at Sherlock. In return, Sherlock smiled back.

"I can imagine Sherrinford looking like you when he was a baby. I wonder if the two of you would get along…"

Rosie simply rested her head on Sherlock's chest, creating small baby noises as she did so.

"I wonder if Sherrinford would like to be around children, or if he was like me before John. I wonder if he likes being with family at all." Sherlock sighed and rested his head against the back of his chair. "When will he escape my mind?"

It was true that Sherrinford was becoming an infection within Sherlock's mind palace. So much so that the very thought of him was becoming a great distraction. But Sherlock wasn't surprised by this. After all, Mycroft had kept his brother a secret for many years and only now decided to tell him when the mention of Sherrinford's name was uttered to him from Sherlock's mouth. And even then was he willing to question the name when John was attacked by an unknown man, claiming that he was erasing the name completely.

Only Sherrinford knew the full details of the attacker and why they attacked. But right now Sherlock couldn't communicate with him. Not unless Mycroft would grant him access. For now, Sherlock was left in the dark with the threat of the remaining network of Moriarty still lingering. And Sherlock was running out of time.

And Sherrinford held the key.

* * *

Sherrinford kept to himself for most of the time he spent at Lakenheath hospital. The place was funded completely by the government by the request of Mycroft. It seemed only fitting that Sherrinford would be sent there. When keeping to himself, he would stare out into the Lakenheath gardens and watch many of the other patients hang out in the scorching sun. Lakenheath was located far in the countryside in Devon. Many said that the space that the countryside allowed would help those similar to him. More than once would he be recommended to go outside and each time Sherrinford wouldn't comply with their demands. It wasn't like he was allergic to the outdoors but Sherrinford preferred to remain indoors. It felt safer than an open space. A small room seemed more secure to him.

And just like every other day, Sherrinford sat beside the window and stared out into the gardens with the clock ticking quietly in the background. Anytime now, the nurse would come in to prescribe is medication.

And just as he thought, the nurse entered on time holding the bottle of pills for him to take. He didn't show any surprise to the woman as he turned to look at her but he knew that this nurse was someone different to the much older lady that came more often. Sherrinford wasn't sure of he liked the change.

"Hello," The women began to speak and Sherrinford took note of her calm and sweet voice. "The receptionist told me you have to take these. And I have to stay and watch, just so I know you've taken them. Is that alright?"

Sherrinford didn't answer. Instead he turned on the spot and lifted his hand out to the nurse, his hand seemed relaxed. The nurse seemed to hesitate a little at his somewhat fast and rigid movements but she eventually handed the bottle to Sherrinford and watched him open the container carefully. All the while she noticed how his bottom lip kept quivering and his hands seemed to shake a little.

"Are you alright?" She asked with concern. The question seemed to take the boy off guard.

"W-What?"

"Your hands keep shaking. I was just wondering if something was wrong. I am here to help, if you need me."

Sherrinford glanced at his hands, watching them quiver beneath him. At first, the boy didn't seem to show much of a reaction to it. But when he noticed the nurse staring at him when he didn't answer he quickly looked away and turned his attention to the window. It seemed he didn't want to answer. As such, the nurse decided to keep quiet for the moment.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it."

The teen glanced at the nurse with his eyes slightly wide. She wondered if she said something to upset him. But she didn't think asking about his hands would be much of a big deal to him. It was obvious now that Sherrinford wasn't taking a liking to the nurse and she wondered if she should even be here. But she had a job to do and until Sherrinford took the pills she was under strict rules not to leave his side.

When Sherrinford didn't move for some time, the nurse spoke again. "Is something the matter?"

A look of worry and anxiety appeared on his face. It seemed he wanted to say something but felt violated doing so.

"T-The nurse gives me a tap of water to help with the pills…" His voice was quiet, hesitant even.

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry." The nurse quickly ran to the tap in the separate room and grabbed a glass cup from the cupboard, filling it halfway and returning to the boy. "Here. I'm sorry this is all very new for me. I didn't think to ask."

Sherrinford only hummed and took the glass from her, placing one of the pills from the bottle into his mouth and taking small sips from the glass, swallowing the pill as he did so. As he was doing this, he continued to look at the nurse with worry but also with a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. As he swallowed he opened his mouth and once again a small voice was heard from him.

"You've already been here a day."

"Oh? Did you see me earlier?"

"No. But your clothes are a day old. And your nametag is recently printed."

The nurse looked at herself, seeming to confirm the boys' simple deduction. "I guess they are."

"It wasn't a guess, it was fact. A simple one." Sherrinford turned his gaze away from her once again. The same look still plastered on his face.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

The boy nodded. "I'm fine."

"If you need anything just-"

"Why are you still here? I took the pill. The nurse should go now."

"I was just-"

"They should go now." Sherrinford sounded sterner this time. The nurse didn't want to seem he was being threatening but it seemed like a small portion of his voice was nearing it. But at the same time anxiety on his face seemed to be even more noticeable.

Not wanting to cause an argument, the nurse rose from her seat and said she would check up on him later. Sherrinford nodded in response, tearing his gaze away from the nurse. As such, the nurse took one last look at Sherrinford and took the bottle of pills from him, which were left on the desk in front of him and make her way to the door, closing it behind her.

The boy said nothing else and kept taking small sips from the glass, feeling his hands continue to shake. His hands gripped the glass as he glanced at the camera in the far corner of the room while trying to keep his hands under control, but in the end Sherrinford placed the glass on the desk and breathed out shakily, unable to keep his body from reacting negatively. And as he turned he saw the man once again, grinning sickly at him.

And suddenly his body was destroying itself.


	9. NINE

Mycroft returned from work and placed his work gear to the site of his couch, stretching his back and checking his refrigerator for any food that was left from the day before. But as usual, the fridge held very little contents. Mycroft sighed and closed the fridge with very little effort and gazed at the leaflets stuck on the door of the fridge. The leaflets showed many meals from dieting companies as well as recipes that Mycroft remembered back in the day at home with his parents. He always admired his parents cooking since it reminded him to good days. The memories allowed Mycroft to place a smile on his face after a long day at work and possibly the hardest day at work in a while.

As he picked one of the leaflets he made his way to the couch and turned the TV on, watching the recent news flicker on the screen and illuminating the grey room. Mycroft looked through the leaflet to see the type of food that he would order for the day while he grabbed his mobile, ready to dial when he made up his mind.

Suddenly, as he was ready to dial, the mobile phone began to vibrate. Mycroft looked at his phone and frowned. He wasn't expecting any phone calls for the day and his workplace had already noted him of information towards the government and their recent events. He already knew the tasks he had to preform for the next day, so who would be calling him? It certainly wasn't a voice over all since Mycroft ensured that the calls themselves were blocked from his mobile and his home phone and close work colleagues were the only one that had his number but the contact showed no name, only the number. So, who was calling him?

Curious, Mycroft pressed the button and placed his mobile near his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mycroft." The voice was female, possibly around thirty years. "It's been some time."

Mycroft straightened his neck and raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't expecting a call from you."

"No, you wouldn't. I intend to keep my daily routines to myself."

"What is it you want?"

"You recently found Sherrinford. I was not informed."

Mycroft was never used to the woman's monotone voice. It always unsettled him. "It was a family matter."

"Anything that poses a threat to this nation is my business. You have no right to decide anything without me knowing."

"I meant to offence. I understand your position- "

"Then respect it. Never make another decision like this again without informing me. Understood?"

Mycroft exhaled after a seemingly long time. "Yes."

Mycroft heard the woman make a sound of satisfaction on the other line. "Good. Then perhaps to repay your incompetence, you will inform me of the condition of Sherrinford. Has he said anything about the network or is involvement as Adam?"

"No, not right now. He's recovering from the trauma."

"You mean to tell me that Sherrinford has yet to tell us anything of Moriarty's remaining network?"

Mycroft hesitated. "Yes."

"Don't forget, you ensured me that the network would be destroyed after Sherlock had dealt with them. And yet, they still exist."

"I believed that the network was defeated. I had no idea of the remaining few that accompanied Adam."

"And therefore, we need Sherrinford to speak. He alone has the answers we desperately need. And the longer we wait the more the chance that people will be in danger. I already suspect they have already attempted an attack due to the increase of police patrolling London recently."

Mycroft recalled the information that John spoke of regarding his attacker. "You would be correct."

"Yes, I would be." The woman sighed. "Listen, its best if we talk about this matter in person rather than on the phone. I would like to arrange an appointment with you."

"I'm free tomorrow evening- "

"That will do. I hope you have some good news on Sherrinford's mental health. The sooner he's well the better we will be against the network. I do hope you won't hide anything else from me, Mycroft."

"I assure you that I- "

"Goodnight."

Mycroft listened has the phone was cut off before he could finish his sentence. He pulled his hand away and looked at the screen, sighing once more as he placed his phone back in his pocket. But as he did so he seemed to hesitate in placing it completely in his pocket as he began to contemplate on calling someone else. After a while of thought he took his phone out again and dialled the number. Once dialled he placed the mobile back to his ear and waited. He answered just as he heard the other line picked up.

"Put me through to Lakenheath hospital, please."

* * *

Mrs Hudson carefully came up the stairs with a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits. Her steps were covered by the quiet sound of the violin from upstairs and as she came to the door she couldn't help but stand and listen to its sweet sound. She made a gentle knock on the door, letting the player know that she was entering to which the music stopped and the sound of Sherlock's voice was heard.

"Come in."

Mrs Hudson came in with a gentle smile as Sherlock turned to her wearing his usual brown dresser and grey pyjamas. Sherlock frowned when he caught sight of the tray. "I think your confused on the time of day, Mrs Hudson."

"Hm? No, I'm very sure it's nearly ten."

"The what's with," He gestured to the tray, "That?"

"Let's just say it's a nice gesture. I thought you might need it."

"You didn't need to."

"No. I wanted to."

Sherlock seemed a little speechless. But nonetheless he nodded and took a seat, placing his violin beside him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Mrs Hudson placed the tray on the coffee table in front of Sherlock and sat down in the seat that Sherlock considered to be John's. "I heard about what happened today."

Sherlock glanced at Mrs Hudson, taking a sip of his tea. "I assume you did. Many things have happened."

"I just wanted to say that I'm here if you need me."

"I know."

"Sherlock I mean it. I can't imagine what you're going through right now." She made a sad sigh. "And I can't imagine what that horrible man did to Sher-Sherin-Sherri- "

"Sherrinford."

Mrs Hudson nodded. "That's it." She then frowned at the odd name. "Bit of a strange name, isn't it?"

"Well, my family always had a strange fascination with unusual names. It is to be expected."

"I'm not saying it's a bad name, mind you."

Sherlock smiled a little. "I know. Somehow, I can't always imagine you being that type Mrs Hudson."

The comment back the landlord scoff. "Bring your brother in and I'll prove you wrong."

Sherlock laughed at that. But soon he returned to sipping his tea quietly. Mrs Hudson remained quiet, watching Sherlock with care and concern.

"I do mean it, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson spoke quietly and gently. "I will be here. I am just a few steps away if you need me."

Sherlock nodded once more. "I know. Thank you. I mean it."

Mrs Hudson smiled back and stood up from her seat. "I should leave you to it. I still have a few house chores to do."

"I won't stop you."

Sherlock watched as his landlord reached the door to his flat and began to close it. Before she closed it fully, however, Sherlock spoke up.

"Do you need any help?"

Mrs Hudson stopped short of her action as she displayed surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"With the chores, I mean. Do you need any help? I don't really have anything to do."

Mrs Hudson smiled after a while of silence. "No, it's alright. I think its best if you get some sleep. The last thing you need is bleach on your clothes."

"I've done experiments that do worse. I can handle it."

The landlord laughed a little. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock simply smiled. "Goodnight, Mrs Hudson."

And the door closed.


	10. TEN

It was no secret that the answers Mycroft needed to stop the remaining network would have to be taken from his brother, Sherrinford. But he feared the outcome of his mental state if he pushed him too far. And that very same worry was making things more difficult with the head of security. Someone that he had a long relation with and someone who he knew could be quite the intimidating one. But Mycroft often never let her personality distract him from his own role in the government.

The drive to MI5's headquarters was a long one. Well, it was for Mycroft. He tried finding an alternative to the outcome that he knew would occur in the conversation. He knew what questions would be asked and the issues that he had created by not informing the women herself about Sherrinford's current state. He was wrong in thinking he could hide him from her. And now he was paying the price.

The car stopped outside the headquarters and for the moment all Mycroft could do was gaze that the tall building and watch the many people enter its towering form. As least they wouldn't have to deal with her. With hesitation, Mycroft opened the car door and grabbed his briefcase from the other seat, closing the door behind him and watched the car drive away. As it came out of sight he turned to the building and took in a deep breath. He straightened his back and made his way to the building with long strides, trying to hide the nerves that were building up from within.

If the inside was towering than the inside mirrored the shear height of the headquarters. All the sounds that Mycroft could hear was the faint sound of the shoes clapping the glossy surface and the ringing of the receptionist phone. As he approached the desk he waited patiently until the receptionist was ready for him. And soon enough she placed the phone down after finishing her call and turned to Mycroft.

"Hello sir, can I help you?"

"I have an appointment the head of security."

"Very well, sir. Please wait a moment."

"I have all day." Mycroft muttered to himself.

As he waited he kept his gaze to the desk, watching the woman make her phone call to the boss. He tried reading her gaze to see of the boss was in anyway in a good mood. Possibly because he was there her mood was drop drastically. But that was something Mycroft didn't want to think about. The sooner this was sorted out the better.

The receptionist put her phone down and turned to Mycroft. "She is expecting you, Mycroft. Go right ahead. It's the top floor."

Mycroft nodded. "Thank you."

Mycroft decided to use the elevator to the top floor, which was only two stairs up, as to not seem tired when he did reach the top floor. It became obvious to him that his appearance was something that he had to keep up, especially when he was meeting someone that he hadn't seen in some time. And considering the ego of this women Mycroft knew that he needed to look his best. Eventually he reached the top, hearing the bell of the elevator signalling his arrival. He looked for the room he needed to attend to and read the nameplate on the door.

 _ **MS T. EVEREST**_

Mycroft took another breath and raised his and to knock. He knocked once, knowing she only answered to doors with one knock. As he waited he soon heard the voice from the phone.

"Come in, Mycroft."

He opened the door with caution and peaked through the now open door to the office of Ms Everest. __The office was tidy and organised with the desk at the far back of the office. The pallet of the room was a light grey with the walls a black pattern that reminded Mycroft of Sherlock's flat. The women herself was sat at her desk, typing away with deep concentration.

"Take a seat, Mycroft. I just need to finish this off."

Mycroft complied and sat down in the seat in front of Everest's desk and waited until she had finished. It took some time, but she finally finished whatever she was doing and closed the laptop down. Her attention turned to Mycroft as she interlinked her hands. Mycroft took note of the women's appearance. Her hair was hair past her shoulders and her skin was a dark shade with her clothing being the usual smart wear.

"Can I get you anything? A coffee? Tea? Biscuits?" Everest gestured to the counter to the side of the room which held the coffee maker and the container of food.

Mycroft shook his head. "No thank you."

"Are you sure? I know you like the usual hot drink."

"That won't be necessary."

Mycroft watched as her lips turned up into a smile. "Calm down, Mycroft. I won't bite your head off. Yet."

Mycroft visibly swallowed unintentionally.

"It will depend on the excuse you give me for the lack of informative cornering Sherrinford. I'll let you make something up quickly. And try not to use the 'because he's my family' excuse." Everest leaned back in her chair, waiting for Mycroft to speak. When he wasn't answer, and seemed to show hesitation she laughed. "I thought so."

"I do have a reason other than that, Everest."

"Oh? I'd love to hear it."

"Sherrinford is in no condition to talk. We only have small details of the abuse he suffered by the hands of Moriarty. If we pressure him now, then we won't get anything of use."

"So, I'm assuming that the news you promised me is bad?"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherrinford had an emotional breakdown. The nurses found him after a lack of activity in his room. He was against the wall in quite a state."

Everest hummed. But her tone seemed unsatisfied. "I see."

"I cannot rush his recovery."

"Mycroft, I don't think I need to remind you that Sherrinford is indeed Adam. As you yourself predicted."

"Yes but- "

"And because of that I must consider the deeds that Adam took when working for Moriarty. That being him being responsible for the death of my agents as well as innocent civilians that he took hostage with that last case two years ago. That, and assisting Moriarty with the death of your brother which, luckily, was avoided. All of that leads me to believed that Sherrinford is capable of many things if given the chance."

"He was abused by Mor- "

"Yes, I am aware of that. But only recently. Which brings me to my next question. Why was I not informed of Sherrinford's state and his current location at Lakenheath?

Mycroft hesitated again.

"Is it because you knew I would pressure him into answering questions concerning the remaining network? Or was it just to spite me?"

"That's not why I did it. I feared for his mental state. You said yourself that Sherrinford is capable of anything right now. I didn't want to pressure him into anything that might cause concern. And I know that you have…tendencies."

"Oh, do I now?" Everest leaned forward, her voice full of venom. "Well I'm sorry that I am a concerned citizen whose job is to protect the civilians of London as well as this nation. Who are you to decide whether to not that should be put into question?"

"I meant no offence- "

"Of course you didn't. I'm sorry that I seem harsh towards your brother, Mycroft. But I think the many deaths of my agents and the civilians of London put at risk gives me some leverage!"

"But- "

Everest suddenly stood from her chair. "No! Let me make this very clear to you, Mr Holmes. Sherrinford, whether you like it or not, is a criminal. He helped with the capture of innocent civilians and the assassinations of others, helped Moriarty with the attempted suicide of your brother, Sherlock and was responsible for the death of my agents! And because of your incompetence many others will be put at risk because of you! Because you allowed your personal life to interfere with the safety of this country and since I wasn't there to decide on Sherrinford's fate I am now obliged to trail you until I have answers! Because you insisted that family was more important than everything else more people will die!"

Mycroft was silenced by the outburst as he could not think of anything else to say. Everest slowly sat back down and let out a long and heavy sigh, tapping her fingers on her desk.

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Mycroft. Sometimes I can see the value in you since your contributions have helped us in the past. And I am grateful for that. But sometimes I just see the arrogance in you. The complete stupidity that you believe makes you higher on the food chain than the rest of us. Well let me tell you, others may think you are the government itself but I can assure you that I do not."

Mycroft, once more, said nothing.

Everest sighed again and averted her gaze to her notepad, her face suggested that she was in deep thought. Eventually, her gaze returned to Mycroft.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long until Sherrinford can speak?"

Mycroft straightened his back. "As I said, he isn't ready to be spoken to about the events of what took place with Moriarty. He is under great stress."

Everest sighed in frustration as her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her noise. She shook her head and turned to Mycroft again. "So, you're saying that Sherrinford can't talk at all."

"Not at this moment."

Everest shook her head again. "I should have been there. We should have discussed this sooner."

"I know that- "

Everest chuckled, but it lacked humour. "No, you clearly don't. We don't have any idea where the network is now. We don't know their names, their faces or anything. They could be anywhere or anyone in London right now. And since you've told that Sherrinford is in a critical state I must assume that someone else is in charge. So, it wasn't just Moriarty and Adam. It was someone else too. And yet again, because of you we can't find out who they are or what they are planning. Because sentiment got the better of you." Everest laughed once more with no sense of humour. "Well done, Mycroft. Well done."

Mycroft shifted nervously in his seat, unable to utter a word.

"I always thought of you being an emotionless git. But I guess I was wrong." Everest sighed tiredly as she rested against her seat. "From now on, you will tell me everything that happens with Sherrinford. I need to know of any improvements. And if such improvements happen I will take matters into my own hands and find out whatever information I can get from Sherrinford about the network. The sooner the better. I don't want anything being discussed behind my back again, understood?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." Everest grabbed her notebook and began to write in it. "I believe this conversation is over. You may leave."

Mycroft was frozen for a moment but soon found the energy to stand and make his way to the door. But before he could open the door, Everest spoke up.

"Don't let sentiment get the better of you, Mycroft. Sherrinford is a criminal and until I am proven otherwise I will treat him as one. And that means I will find the information I need by any means. For now, I'll play along."

Mycroft didn't reply as he opened the door and left the room and when be believed that Everest was no longer listening he let out a long sigh of anxiety.

"God help me."


End file.
